


Under The Knife

by The_Utterly_Clumsy_Ninja



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Genji is a Good Brother, Hanzo also has ptsd, Hanzo has Anxiety, I cannot not stress the self harm thing enough, Jesse has some issues himself, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Trans Jesse McCree, Trans Male Character, Trigger Warning-Self Harm, Zenyatta is everyone's therapist, and depression, graphic depictions of self harm, it ends happy i swear, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Utterly_Clumsy_Ninja/pseuds/The_Utterly_Clumsy_Ninja
Summary: Depression and self-hatred are cold things. They prey on you even when you're surrounded by loved ones, swallow up the best parts of you until all you can feel is your own pain. Hanzo dealt with things in his own way, alone. He kept his secrets covered and carved a special place for his pain, hidden away from those who cared for him. But you can't hide a heart made of glass, can't hide how fragile you are behind walls no matter how carefully they are built.





	1. Happy Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> I had a self-harm relapse for the first time in three years. It's easy for me to pretend it never happened and I'm sure none of you give a damn about these author's notes so I'll try to spare you the sob story. But if anyone reading this has self-harmed or is currently struggling with it. I've been wracking my brain trying to put something useful in here, to give some kind of advice that would help someone in need. But I can't honestly give you ten good reasons not to or even on what you ought to do. 
> 
> So I decided to keep doing what I'm good at when it comes to things. I'll drag my heart over my keyboard and make words that speak to you.

* * *

 

The first time it happened, Hanzo could recall the feelings he had. He was sixteen and covered in blood that wasn’t his own. He’d made a grave mistake for his position that resulted in a punishment that had cost another their life. 

He had fallen in love with another man. It started out much like any teen romance. A whirl of emotions that consumed Hanzo’s very being. Takumi Saito was the son of the local florist, his warm smile winning over Hanzo’s cold exterior easily. Despite knowing he could never escape the cage of his birth, Hanzo allowed himself to fall. It was as if the whole world had been made up of shades of gray and Takumi filled Hanzo’s life with color.

It all came crashing down when his father began arranging for Hanzo’s marriage when he turned eighteen. The women he was forced to meet were all from promising family backgrounds, meant to create connections that would benefit both the Shimada empire and the other families involved. Hanzo despised it all and when Takumi found out, his boyfriend concocted a plan for them to run away.

Genji helped Hanzo sneak out, happy his brother had found love. Hanzo took nothing but some money and a small knapsack of his belongings, mostly photos, and clothes to wear. Hanzo had said goodbye to his brother, promising to write as soon as he could before he bolted off into the darkness. He ran until he reached Takumi’s home, heart hammering in his chest. He thought he was finally free from his cage.

The door had been ajar when Hanzo arrived, broken off the hinges and hanging like a warning sign. Hanzo’s heart had frozen in fear. He burst inside and the scene he found would be forever burned into his mind.

Takumi and his family, dead in their living room with his father standing tall next to them. The Shimada family blade dripping with the blood of his lover and his father's. Hanzo had barely heard himself screaming as he rushed to Takumi’s side. Hanzo had gathered his lover in his arms, calling his name in his grief. The blood still fresh from the slice of the blade at his father’s hand.

“Takumi...no,” Hanzo had managed through his tears, staring into the brown eyes that had once been so filled with warmth and love. Now they stared wide in fear, the last emotion his love felt before he was struck down. Sojiro stared down at his son and watched as Hanzo cried into Takumi’s chest.

“Get up Hanzo,” Sojiro had said, his voice soft in sympathy. “You are coming home.” Hanzo looked up, tears still pouring from his eyes. The sorrow he felt turned to rage as he looked at his father's face. Hanzo laid Takumi down, rising to his feet. He swung at his father with all his strength and anger. Sojiro was old but not helpless, quick to deflect his son’s punch and the kick that followed. Hanzo found himself tossed into the overturned coffee table.

In the second Hanzo took to find his breath, his father took several steps forward and crushed his foot on Hanzo’s temple. The pain made Hanzo gasp as he could only stare at the corpses of Takumi and his family. They all lay there, still with fear frozen onto their faces. Takumi’s father, Minato was holding hands with his partner, Isaiah. The men had been nothing but kind to Hanzo and it had cost them their lives. Tears spring to Hanzo’s eyes as he looked back towards Takumi, the pressure on his head making his head throb.

“Look long and hard, this is what happens when you try to run,” Sojiro growled, putting more pressure on his son’s temple. “You have a duty to uphold and you would throw away your family for this…you would toss away the life we have given you for this?” The tears sprung to Hanzo’s eyes again as he fought to escape his father’s grasp.

“Why would you…” Hanzo tried to ask, the grief overpowering his anger once more. “I loved him...how could you…” Sojiro paused, pulling his foot away and allowed Hanzo to rise. Hanzo sat up and wiped his nose. Sojiro slowly moved his hand to Hanzo’s hair, touching his son gently. Hanzo couldn’t tear his eyes from Takumi as he tried to quell his tears.

“So you could see what happens when you disobey. It was either to be done by my hand or later when the elders sent assassins after you.” Sojiro stated, casting a small look towards the bodies. “You are the heir and you will start accepting that role or more blood will follow.” Hanzo stared blankly at the scene, tears drying as the numbness followed. Sojiro’s eyes softened at his eldest. The man pulled Hanzo close, his age showing as his shoulders slumped.

“It is for your own good, my precious son,” Sojiro said, holding Hanzo close for several moments. Hanzo sniffed as his father started to guide him towards the door. “One day, I hope you understand.”  Hanzo followed his father home slowly, eyes blank and spirit broken.

It was well into the late hours of the morning when Hanzo’s father quietly locked him in his room. It didn’t bother him, being alone now. Hanzo stared at himself in the mirror that hung behind his door. He had long since stopped crying as he stared at his reflection. Takumi’s blood decorated the front of his shirt like a morbid painting.

He was alone…

The sound of shattering glass was what brought Hanzo back from the haze. The glass falling from the mirror as Hanzo’s fist smashed into it. Hanzo stood, breathing heavily as he stared at the shards on the floor. His hand throbbed in pain, blood starting to drip from the cuts on his knuckles left by the glass. Pain...he could feel the pain.

The sound of his own heart racing was the only sound, the beat his only melody in the quiet of his room. Hanzo reached for the largest shard of glass. He held it tightly in his left, staring down at it as it cut into his palm and fingers. Hanzo’s breathing came out sporadically, his chest feeling tight in panic. He couldn’t breathe correctly, his mind swirling.

Takumi was dead and it was all his fault. If Hanzo had never existed, Takumi would still be alive. But Takumi was dead and Hanzo was still here, his heart was still beating. It wasn’t fair that people as kind and loving as Takumi and his family were dead. The thoughts swirled in Hanzo’s mind, flooding it like poison.

_ You’re fault… _

_ You should have died with him... _

Hanzo lifted the shard in his hand and dragged it across his wrist. The glass sunk into his skin, tearing it as a small line of blood rose to the surface. He knew from his training that going across his wrist would not kill him. The jagged cut stung, the pain punctuating Hanzo’s numb existence. The pain meant he was still here, still living.

He kept going, the jagged cuts lining his right wrist and up his forearm before he moved to switch them. The blood leaked from his wounds, coming down his arm like a river. Hanzo finally dropped the shard, his breathing calming. The world came back into focus as pain throbbed up his arm. After a few long moments, Hanzo rose to his feet with his expression unreadable.

Living was punishment for his weakness.

 

* * *

 

The clock ticked to three o’clock in the morning, Hanzo staring at the family tapestry. His father’s sword sheathed in front of him. Hanzo sat on his knees, long hair falling over his shoulder. He was twenty-five now, long since grown from his carefree days of youth. Sojiro had died several months ago and Hanzo was being forced into the role he’d been bred for. With it came a responsibility he didn’t want to perform.

There was a sound from behind him, a familiar voice entering the room.

“Hanzo, brother, you’re up late,” Genji said voice slurred slightly with drunkenness. Hanzo wrinkled his nose as Genji came closer. Cigarette smoke and alcohol hung heavy to his brother. The once black hair his brother had was dyed green. “What has you up…”

“Genji, we must speak,” Hanzo said as he rose and turned toward Genji. “You cannot keep carrying on like this. The late nights, sneaking out, drinking...it is unbecoming of a member of the clan.” Genji rolled his eyes, putting his hand on his hips.

“Forgive me for choosing to live my life rather than doing whatever the elders expect me to,” Genji stated, voice sarcastic. “Just because you want this life doesn’t mean I do.” Hanzo felt rage grasp him. Hanzo curled his fists, walking forward to get into Genji’s face.

“I have sacrificed everything for this family because it is my duty,” Hanzo shouted, grabbing Genji by the shirt. “You have been spoiled and given free reign but no more! You will accept your role as my second or I’ll…” Genji shoved Hanzo away, anger apparent in his eyes.

“I am done being a prisoner to this family’s name,” Genji growled, turning to head to the door. “If I’m such an embarrassment to the family name, then I’ll just leave.” Hanzo’s eyes widened, his anger peaking. Genji wanted to leave? Hanzo had sacrificed everything to be the heir that he was expected to be, had lost so much because of what he was expected to be. Takumi’s lifeless eyes filled his vision and Hanzo reached for his sword.

“You will never amount to anything!” Hanzo shouted as he watched his sword slice across Genji’s cheek “You dishonor the clan with your decisions.” Genji jumped away, touching his cheek and pulling it back to examine the blood on his fingertips.

The elders had ordered him to straighten out his brother as his father had once refused. Genji had never faced the same punishment Hanzo had. Sojiro allowed his youngest to sneak out, to sleep with whoever he wished while keeping a firm eye on his eldest. Hanzo was barely allowed to leave the home after what had happened to Takumi while Genji was free. If Hanzo tried to do anything that wasn’t approved of, he was punished with blows and sharp words.

Over the years, the jealously had curdled inside him and his resentment for his brother grew. His brother had always been given freedom that Hanzo wasn’t allowed. Tonight, the wall of self-control Hanzo had constructed to hide his emotions crashed down. He no longer saw the brother he loved, blinded by his hatred. All he felt was the blinding anger that his brother dare spit on what he owed to the family, dared to try and run out on his duty as Hanzo once had. Genji was dishonoring the family with this action.

“I will restore your honor and the honor of the clan with your death,” Hanzo growled, holding up his blade. His eyes were cold as he waited for his brother to gather himself. He would give Genji time to defend himself in this fight. He had honor where his brother lacked it.

Genji glared up at his brother, breathing heavily as he held his bleeding cheek. Genji managed to rise to his feet. Hanzo watched Genji reach for his own katana. Genji was grateful for a moment that he never left the house without his weapon. The silver of the blade sparkling under the light of the candles.

“Is the hold they have on you so great now?” Genji said softly, meeting Hanzo’s eyes. “Then let’s do this, brother.” With a primal cry, Hanzo dove for his brother.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo stared at himself in the mirror of his bathroom. His hair had fallen from his ponytail and into his face. Cuts adorned his face, he could feel the bruises surfacing under his armor. Blood coated his clothing and face, some of it his but most of it belonged to Genji. Hanzo shook as the realization of what he’d just done came crashing over him.

He had killed his brother.

Hanzo’s shoulders shook, his resolve crashing down. He tore at his clothes, tossing his blood stained shirt onto the ground. He had killed his brother, the only family he had left because of his own bitterness. He tried to tell himself it was for the family, for the greater need of the Shimada-gumi. He pulled off his arm bracers, tossing them on the ground. When all his clothing lay on the floor, Hanzo looked down at his wrists.

Half-healed cuts covered his arms, laying over long healed scars. Even his tattoo hadn’t covered them all, the ink disturbed by fresh marks. Some lines neat while others criss crossed. So many years of self-hatred poured into those scars. Hanzo wasted no time reaching for his instrument. After that first night, he began using a small razor blade to take out his shame. The blade was taped under the sink in his bathroom to hide it from prying eyes. To hide his shame for daring to feel anything less than strong,

Hanzo held the blade tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at his left wrist for only a moment before dragging the blade between two healed scars. The pain was quick, blood welling to the surface. Hanzo’s face went blank as he felt his shoulders shaking again. Instead of moving to another spot on his arm, he dug the blade deeper into the same spot.

He needed to suffer, he needed to pay for what he’d done.

When Hanzo pulled the blade away, it was covered in blood that ran down his arm. Hanzo took a shaky breath and looked back at his handy work. The cut was deep, bleeding freely down Hanzo’s arm. it would be the largest scar and would no doubt need stitches to keep closed. Hanzo looked up at his reflection in the mirror. His long hair was falling in his face but his shoulders had stopped shaking.

Genji was gone. His beloved younger brother falling by his own hand in the name of a duty Hanzo didn’t want. If his family would so needlessly cut down someone as bright as Genji...how could he dare to remain breathing when Genji was gone? His life purpose, his duty to the elders, suddenly felt dwarfed by his despair. He couldn’t understand how he could live with what he had done for the sake of his role.

He knew what he needed to do.

Hanzo held up the ends of his hair in one hand. It had always been a sense of pride for him. Long hair was a sign of all the great leaders of his clan. It was a title Hanzo no longer deserved, a title he had never wanted and had cost him the only people he’d ever truly cared about. With the same razor, still coated in blood, Hanzo cut through his hair. The jagged locks of hair fell into his face and Hanzo turned from the mirror. The black strands fell from his hand and spilled over the bathroom floor, contrasting with the bathroom tile.

Hanzo walked into his room and gathered his things. He loaded a small knapsack with his clothes, a quiver of arrows and his Storm Bow. Hanzo left the family sword with Genji’s body. He wouldn’t need it anymore, didn’t deserve to carry it anymore. Hanzo packed his small throwing knives to compensate, not doubting the remaining Shimada to send assassins his way. He left under the cover of night, a silent vow on his mind. He would redeem himself for this sin. He would find a way to honor his brother’s name and his death.

Even at the cost of his own, worthless life.

 

* * *

 

Watchpoint was alive with activity. There were people greeting each other in the meeting room while newer members hung back. Hanzo stood near the wall and observed those around him. He was on edge, looking for every possible escape route. He had come here simply because Genji had asked him.

He still could not wrap his head around the recent events of his life. He had no way of knowing that his brother would have come to him nearly ten years after his death. To find that Genji had survived Hanzo’s slaughter had left him reeling. Genji may be more man than machine now but Hanzo was slowly accepting this. His brother was alive and his brother had asked him to start his path to redemption outside the life of solitude he had built.

Hanzo crossed his arms in front of his chest, his left side open and bare but he’d learned to hide his scars under an archery glove over the years. His hair had grown out since that day but he kept it to his shoulders and tied back with his yellow ribbon. He felt out of place, watching his brother surrounded by friends. Friends that had seen what Hanzo had done to him. Unused to interaction, Hanzo hung back as Genji flitted around with a bright greeting for his old friends.  

Hanzo could feel the eyes on him, the glares boring holes into his back. His brother’s master floated at Genji’s side and greeted those he would be working with. Hanzo wasn’t sure what to make of the omnic, with his happy tone and interesting brand of wisdom. Zenyatta had shaken his hand in front of Genji when they first met and then threatened him in the most peaceful way he had ever been threatened as soon as Genji was out of earshot.

Hanzo decided he trusted Zenyatta with his brother more than he trusted anyone.

Movement caught Hanzo’s eye near his left, making the man turn his head and stiffen. Years of being on the run hadn’t helped his paranoia. Hanzo was always ready for a battle now, the dark circles under his eyes an indicator of how little he slept. Beside him, stood a man dressed in the most ridiculous outfit Hanzo had ever seen.

The man was just a few inches taller than Hanzo, his sandy brown hair touching his cheeks despite being mostly hidden under a large, leather cowboy hat. From the spurs on his boots to the six-shooter at his side, this man looked like every bad western hero Genji had ever shown Hanzo in their youth. The scruffy beard didn’t fail to hide the handsome jaw of the man, in fact, it seemed to enhance it. Hanzo tried not to stare as he met the cowboy’s eyes. They were a light, honeyed brown and Hanzo couldn’t help but feel his heart hammer.

“So, you’re Hanzo?” The man said, giving Hanzo a cold once over. “Name’s Jesse McCree, I’m a friend of Genji’s from the old Blackwatch.” Hanzo felt his heart sink despite himself and he turned his gaze away. There was no doubt that McCree was aware of what he’d done. He decided to say nothing, instead kept his gaze trained on the other side of the room. McCree leaned against the wall next to him.

“So, I heard you're some kind of genius with that bow,” McCree said, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to him. “Care to make a bet on who’s got better aim?” Hanzo wrinkled his brow, confused by why the cowboy was being so friendly...wasn’t he aware of what he’d done to Genji? Wasn’t he aware of the blood on Hanzo’s hands?

“What is your angle?” Hanzo asked, voice sounding accusatory. “There is no doubt that you are aware of what I did to Genji…” McCree nodded, chuckling slightly.

“Yep, I was one of the first people there ta help Angie take Genji from where ya left him,” McCree stated casually, leaning against the wall. “Ya did quite a number on ‘im.” Hanzo looked away again, his regret and self-hatred rising in his heart again. He wished he could take it all back, could undo the damage he had done for the sake of honoring a clan that had only hunted him after he cast away his duty. He didn’t notice McCree watching him as Hanzo unconsciously lifted his arm, rubbing at his wrist. The cowboy smiled at him.

“But we all got regrets, some are just heavier than others,” McCree stated, staring back towards the group. “Hell, my hands ain’t too clean themselves. I used to run with a gang and I’m wanted for murder, theft and a bunch o’ other things.” Hanzo looked up, eyebrows wrinkling. Was this man a wanted criminal? McCree seemed so friendly...but looking at him, Hanzo could see that look in his eyes. The eyes of someone who had seen too much.

“But,” McCree continued, giving Hanzo a bright grin and reaching up to put a warm hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Overwatch gave me a chance to start redeemin’ myself. So, Hanzo Shimada, my angle is that you look like a man that needs a friend.” McCree held out his hand, meeting Hanzo’s dark eyes with his honey brown depths.

“I don’t have friends.” Hanzo said, eyes narrowing at McCree. His shoulders were stiff, body rigid. He was like a snake, poised to bite if needed. “What makes you think I am interested in such things.” McCree didn’t look away, clearly not intimidated by the act. Hanzo was vaguely aware of eyes on them. The room was watching them, the other members almost waiting for Hanzo to injure McCree. Out of the corner of his eyes, Hanzo watched members going for weapons or glaring at him warningly.

“Well, darlin’, what’s that ol’ saying...The journey of a thousand miles?” McCree stated with a small smirk. “Ya want to redeem yourself, ya gotta make some friends ‘round here. This is a team and makin’ nice makes things go smoother. Ya want to make up for the past, this is the first step.”

Hanzo stared for a moment, unsure what to do. He didn’t deserve friends. Not after what he had done, not with the mistakes he had made. Genji had forgiven him, had spared Hanzo’s life months ago and told him he must now forgive himself. But Hanzo knew what he had done, that the blood on his hands, was unforgivable. He didn’t deserve kindness, friendship or forgiveness.

“And if I do not want your friendship, cowman?” Hanzo asked, his tone wary and eyes glaring fiercely up at the man. McCree gave a sharp bark of laughter. Hanzo blinked at the man, the sound feeling warm to his ears.

“Maybe I should rephrase than,” McCree stated with a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “I ain’t givin’ ya a choice.” Hanzo raised a brow as he slowly lifted his hand. Hanzo’s eyes didn’t leave McCree’s as his took the cowboy’s hand and nodded.

“You are a strange man, McCree,” Hanzo said, earning another bark of laughter from the other man. “But that strangeness will not keep me from winning a test of ability.” McCree raised a brow, a smirk on his lips as the fire of determination filled his eyes.

“We’ll see about that, archer.” McCree said as he released Hanzo’s hand. The elder Shimada pulled his arm away, eyes darting to his sleeve to make sure it was still pulled down. “Care to start it now?” Hanzo smiled cockily at the cowboy, walking towards the door towards the training room.  

“You will lose.”

 

* * *

 

Depression is an ugly beast.

It invades the mind, twisting your every move into something black and shapeless. Depression steals away your being, steals away your joy. It isn’t always a sadness but a debilitating emptiness that you cannot fill. Hanzo’s depression was like that. It was dark and all-consuming, turning what was once new and unfamiliar into a prison of his own making.

It had been two months since he’d joined Overwatch. Two months since his life had started to change for what he thought was the better. Hanzo had been on a few missions, cementing himself with the role of the sniper on their missions. He had made friends, finding himself growing closer to several members. He would often spend his free days without missions playing games with Hana Song and joining her for her streams with her fans. Other days were spent with Genji and his master, Zenyatta, filled with training and reconnecting with his brother. Slowly, happiness and routine filled his life.

McCree had been his closest friend through the last months. The cowboy and Hanzo spent many days challenging each other while training, drinking in the early afternoon and sometimes sharing stories. Some nights were spent watching movies when neither man could sleep. McCree had his own demons that kept him awake, demons that he slowly started to reveal to Hanzo. Hanzo found himself growing happier with each day despite still holding his own emotions close to his heart. Hanzo felt his heart lightening with every passing day. All it took was a smile from McCree or a happy retelling of a happy story from the cowboy’s past to make Hanzo smile.

Mccree was in every way, Hanzo’s opposite. The cowboy was loud, brash and talked too much. At first, it would grate on Hanzo’s nerves but then he realized that McCree never pushed him for conversation. The cowboy was content with just letting Hanzo be silent while he filled space with chatter and stories. When Hanzo was comfortable reciprocating with his own, McCree would listen as if Hanzo’s words were the most important ones he would ever hear. It was nice to have someone who cared about what he had to say.

The realization that he had feelings for McCree hit him all at once. He should have seen it slowly building but when he finally felt it for what it was, he was both frightened and relieved. They had been out drinking together and Hanzo had been forced to help McCree home. The cowboy was smiling and laughing, singing some old country song while he hung on Hanzo’s shoulders. The archer was holding McCree around the waist to keep the man from stumbling and falling over. The sound of McCree’s voice, soft and stumbling in his drunkenness, warmed Hanzo’s soul.

When had he started to notice McCree’s warm smiles? The bright grins that lit up the man’s face, crinkling the edges of his eyes. When had McCree’s friendly touches started making his heart slam in his chest? Hanzo realized that night he was getting too close, was letting himself feel emotions that he knew were problematic.

He slowly pulled away. Declining invitations to spend time with McCree, to meditate with Genji and Zenyatta, to play games with Hana or talk with Lucio. his mind chose to remind him how unworthy he was of all of this. That he wasn’t worthy of time with these people he had come to care for. He was a waste of space, a dishonored shell of his former self.

McCree still managed to try and insert himself into Hanzo’s life. The cowboy wasn’t so easily deterred by Hanzo’s sharp tongue or reclusive ways. Hanzo forced himself to hours at the training facilities, trying not to enjoy watching McCree taking aim. He tried not to notice the way McCree would wrinkle his brow before a shot. He tried not to enjoy the nights he was dragged outside to smoke with McCree under the guise that McCree couldn’t sleep.

The blackness of his depression hit hard at the beginning of his third month. The darkness weighed over him like a cloud, stealing away his energy. Whispering words at midnight when he laid awake, trying to find his sleep. Hanzo’s nightmares started up again, His new bed becoming the same as all the motels he had frequented when he had no home, the same as his bed in the castle that was his childhood home. He would close his eyes to no avail, his body aching with his sleeplessness. The whispers of his mind were keeping him awake. Sleep wasn’t an escape anymore, his mind plagued with nightmares when he could find a few precious hours.

By the second week of emptiness, Hanzo rarely left his room. McCree was out on a mission that was lasting weeks, Genji with him and no one else came to find Hanzo. The voice whispered that the other’s did not care, that they would never notice him if he was gone. Not with the way he had been pulling away, not with the burdens of Hanzo’s past sins weighing heavily in the air. It made his heart ache but it was necessary.

Hanzo stared at his arm tonight, a bottle of sake in hand. The youngest of his self-inflicted wounds having healed into raised pink scars. The sight of it left the eldest Shimada itching to create more. He was on his day third day of barely any sleep, his third day of his mind whispering his insecurities at him.

_ “You are unworthy...” _

_ “You are weak for letting this affect you…” _

_ “You are incapable of love...” _

_ “Death is the only redemption you can hope for…” _

Hanzo took another large gulp of sake, throwing the gourd he often drank out of across the room. He didn’t deserve to have his wounds healed. Hanzo felt his chest starting to constrict, the air in his room feeling thick and heavy with every new breath. Every sense was hyper focused on one single goal.

Punishment.

Hanzo found his tools easily. The assortment of sharp objects hidden in a box in the case he kept his bow, in a compartment of his own creation. Hanzo gripped the small knife in his hand. He kept them sharp for combat uses but tonight he would use them to battle his own self-hatred.

One.

He lowered the blade to his arm, brown eyes looking for a spot near his wrist. His thoughts going to Genji and the scars his brother bore because of Hanzo’s own pride and blinding anger. He settled on making that cut near the deep, raised scar he’d inflicted the night he had believed his brother dead by his hand, A slow drag over his skin, a sharp pinch of pain as blood flowed to the surface from the deep cut.

Two. Three. Four.

These wounds came one after another, just beneath the first and applied with more pressure. The sight of Takumi’s lifeless eyes after Hanzo believed himself worthy of happiness. The stench of blood as it ran down his arm sparking the memory of the bodies of a family destroyed by Hanzo’s selfishness.

Five. Six. Seven.

The pain was becoming worse, the blood beginning to pour down his arm as each cut became deeper. The cuts swelled slightly now as they bled. Each swipe of the blade over his skin applied with more pressure, enough to bruise under them. He needed more pain, needed to see his shame running down his arm, he needed to be punished for his weakness.

Eight. Nine.

Weak. Worthless. He deserved to die. Hanzo wasn’t worthy of the breath in his lungs, he wasn’t deserving of the friendships he had forged. He was a monster that had slain his own brother, had killed countless others for pay. The world would be better off without him taking space in it. He had never been worthy of the life given to him, had never asked to be born.

Ten.

The tenth cut never fell onto his skin. In his spiral of self-hatred, he hadn’t heard his door opening, hadn’t heard the soft, accented voice calling out his name. He didn’t realize that McCree was standing in the doorway until the gunslinger had dashed toward him and seized the hand holding his tool by the wrist. The blood soaked knife fell to the floor with a soft thunk on the carpet.

“Hanzo!” McCree shouted voice weighed down with panic. “What the hell are ya doin’!?” Hanzo met McCree’s eyes and his heart stopped in his chest. His eyes went down to his arm, the cuts bleeding freely. Each one was deeper than the last. His heart hammered in his chest as he realized he had been caught. McCree had seen his weakness. Hanzo felt his chest tighten, even more, panic setting in. McCree removed his serape and flannel, pressing the flannel shirt against the wounds on Hanzo’s arm in an attempt to stop the blood.

“Shit, you’re gonna need stitches...Crap, let’s get ya to Mercy…” McCree said when the blood began rising up through the material of the flannel. Hanzo struggled, trying to move away from McCree. His mind was reeling and chest heaving. No, he had never meant for anyone to see this ritual he had been doing since he turned sixteen, especially not McCree.

“No, stop...I can’t…” Hanzo tried to communicate through his panic, his breaths not filling his lungs. His thoughts raced too quickly to focus on just one. His shoulders shook and McCree barely managed to get close enough to cup the Asian man’s face in his hands.

“Darlin’, sugar, sweet pea…” McCree said softly, leaning his forehead against Hanzo’s and forcing the man to meet his eyes. “I need ya to breathe with me. Take a deep one for me.” Hanzo felt his whole body shaking, focusing on the warm hands on his face and the honey brown eyes locked on his. He breathed in along with McCree, the air filling his screaming lungs. He was vaguely aware of tears streaming down his cheeks when McCree nodded.

“Good, now another.” McCree encouraged softly, taking another deep breath. Hanzo followed suit. They stayed there for several moments, what felt like ages, just breathing until Hanzo’s hands tingled with the sudden rush of oxygen to his veins. Hanzo’s breath evened out and he realized how close McCree was.

“McCree...Jesse...I…” Hanzo struggled to say, his eyes flicking down to his arm and McCree’s blood soaked shirt. The other agent shook his head, reaching down to pick the serape from the ground. He wrapped the soft material around Hanzo’s shoulders and gathering the bleeding man in his arms. Hanzo submitted, body tired as his pulse still raced and his muscles weak from his blood loss. The serape smelled of cigarillo smoke and a spicy scent that was all McCree.

“I’ve gotcha, I’ve gotcha…” McCree whispered, heading for the door. “Ya don’t need to say nothing just hold that on your arm ‘till we get ya patched up, sugar bean…” Hanzo did as he was told, pressing the material to his wounds in an attempt to quell the bleeding.

As they walked down the hall to the infirmary, Hanzo could hear McCree’s pounding heartbeat through the man’s chest as McCree raced him to the infirmary. The man was frightened for him. Hanzo felt his heart squeeze, his eyes heavy from his lack of sleep and then all he knew was blackness.

 

* * *

Hanzo jolted awake in a hospital bed, confused and body on high alert. He looked around only to realize he was in the infirmary. He tried to gather his thoughts, mind heavy with the painkillers in his system. It was like trying to wade through a fog as his head pounded.

“Hanzo, you’re awake.” McCree’s voice said, calling Hanzo’s attention to him. As Hanzo’s gaze met McCree’s, the worried look in those honey brown eyes jarring all the events of the night before into Hanzo’s mind. McCree sat at his bedside and rose as Hanzo turned to him. Hanzo’s heart hammered in his chest, making the machine he was plugged into beep rapidly.

“Hanzo, it’s okay…calm down, Darlin’.” McCree said calmly, his brow wrinkling. “I’m not gonna bite your head off or nothin’...” Hanzo looked down at the bandages and stitches lining his arm. He stared at them, biting his lip as he tried not to panic. McCree laid his hand over Hanzo’s.

“Now ya don’t have ta talk but everyone’s been real worried since they heard ya were in here…” McCree said, his voice soft and movements slow as if he were approaching a frightened animal. “I didn’t tell anyone but Hanzo...what were you thinking?” Hanzo couldn’t look at McCree in his shame. He shut his eyes tightly as his throat constricted, tears burning at his eyes and threatening to spill. No, he couldn’t reveal more of his weakness.

“It is none of your concern…” Hanzo started to say, hating the sound of pain in McCree’s voice. He needed to push this away, needed to run. His mind was already thinking the best routes out of Watchpoint.

“Like hell, it’s none o’ my concern!” McCree snapped, his voice shaking and his accent heavier. It drew Hanzo from his thoughts as the archer’s head swiveled to face McCree. The cowboy’s eyes were narrowed in apparent anger and frustration.

“I come home to find ya hurtin’ yarself to the point where ya need stitches and ya don’t think I’m gonna be concerned?” McCree growled lowly, his eyes boring into Hanzo’s. “And by the state of those scars, I’d say it ain’t the first time…” Hanzo felt his shoulders sinking and his heart aching for the pain he could hear at the edge of McCree’s words. Hanzo looked away, clenching his fist. He didn’t think that McCree would have been so affected by this…

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this…” Hanzo said softly, his words choked on the bile in his throat. “I never meant for anyone to see.” McCree went quiet for a moment as Hanzo did his best to regain the control he held over himself.

“How long?” McCree finally asked after several silent moments, his words cutting into Hanzo’s soul. “And why did it start?” Hanzo took a deep breath, his heart twisting in hatred for himself. It rose in his heart like a snake, coiling in his soul and poisoning him. He didn’t want to talk about this but McCree...he deserved an answer for what he had witnessed.

“I was sixteen the first time I did it to myself,” Hanzo admitted, shoulders starting to shake as he gripped the sheets in his hands. “To punish myself for my weakness, to pay for what I had done wrong, for wasting the precious breath I didn’t deserve to be given.”

“Sixteen...Hanzo that’s twenty-two years ya’ve been hurtin’ like this?” McCree said incredulously, his brow wrinkling. “Darlin’...I want to help” Hanzo felt his heart break with the sound of McCree’s voice. It sounded so worried, so concerned for him. He wasn’t sure how to handle someone caring for him. The tears came before he could stop them, the painkillers lowering his emotional walls for just a moment.

“Hey now, it’s gonna be alright darlin’.” McCree said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and taking Hanzo’s hands in his. “I’ve gotcha, you just let it all out...it’s okay to let it all out.” Hanzo leaned into McCree’s solid chest, sobbing like a child. It was as if his heart had cracked open and all the pain he had been holding in for so many years was pouring out. McCree kept his voice soft, whispering soft words of comfort.

Finally, after what felt like ages. Hanzo had cried his last tear. McCree reached for a tissue from the box at the bedside table and handed it to Hanzo. Hanzo just knew his face was red and flushed, his nose running. But his heart felt lighter somehow as if he had unloaded years of emotion in one moment. McCree grinned softly at Hanzo as the man met his eyes.

“I’m sorry I snapped at ya, I was just...coming in and seeing you covered in blood triggered some bad memories for me too,” McCree admitted, his thumb rubbing small circles over the top of Hanzo’s hand. Hanzo kept his eyes lowered in guilt. He didn’t know what to say, what to do to recover what he had broken...the urge to drag the knife across his skin was strong but he was so tired.

“Are you going to get help for this?” McCree asked, staring at Hanzo with the same soft expression. “I won’t tell anyone but Han, you can’t keep hurtin’ yourself like this…” Hanzo stiffened, not responding right away. There was nothing wrong with him and he didn’t need help. Help meant pointless therapy, locking him up and making him talk about things he didn’t want to talk about.

But McCree was clearly very worried for him. Hanzo had never thought that he would find anyone who would worry about him like this. Although he supposed that was why he hid it away for so long, he didn’t want to risk someone trying to stop him. It was the only form of coping that Hanzo had and after so many years alone, he didn’t know how to accept help.

“I am not sure…” Hanzo stated in response, still not looking up. “I will...consider it…” McCree opened his mouth to say more when another voice filled the room.

“Hanzo, Angela said McCree brought you in but refused to tell me why…” Genji’s voice said as the cyborg entered the room. Hanzo’s head shot up and his heart monitor gave away his surprise. McCree looked toward Genji then back to Hanzo. The eldest Shimada met his brother’s gaze, his brother’s visor pulled off to reveal his eyes and face. The brown orbs flicked down to Hanzo’s arm before he could hide it.

“Hanzo…” Genji said softly, watching as his brother looked down at his blankets. McCree rose, sensing that he needed to let Genji sit and talk with his brother. Hanzo instinctually grabbed McCree’s shirt. He didn’t want to do this, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough. McCree paused and turned back to Hanzo. He laid a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo looked up at McCree and was met with that warm smile.

“Talk to Genji,” McCree said softly, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Ya don’t have to tell him anythin’ but I think you should.” With those last words, McCree left through the infirmary doors. Genji took the chair the cowboy had previously occupied. He crossed his legs as he sat, sitting quietly with Hanzo. The monitors beeped as neither spoke for several minutes. Hanzo stared down at his arm and counted his stitches until Genji finally spoke.

“How long have you been harming yourself like this?” Genji asked softly, staring at Hanzo’s arm with his brother and mentally counting the scars on his arm that he could see. Hanzo took a deep breath in hopes of finding the words.

“After Takumi.” Was all he managed to say, still not looking up but instead lifting his left hand to draw them over the scars he could see. He ran his finger over some of the oldest scars. Genji was silent for another moment before he reached forward. Hanzo looked up as a cool metal hand laid over his and he was met with Genji’s tear filled eyes.

“I’m sorry brother…” Genji said in their native tongue, tears running down his cheeks. “You were suffering all those years and I was...too blinded by my own selfishness to see it.” Hanzo felt his own tears pricking at his eyes again as he shook his head.

“No...I deserved this pain. I was never good enough...I was never enough.” Hanzo stated, voice sounding so sure. “Takumi died because I thought I could escape the clan. He shouldered the dishonor I brought on the family. I submitted to my role, made it my dream but it wasn’t enough to make up for what I had done. I couldn’t control my own resentment and you paid the price. I deserved to be in pain for all I have done…”

“The clan...father killed Takumi,” Genji interrupted calmly. “He chose to end Takumi’s life, not you. They chose to have you kill me. All you wanted was to be happy and when it did not fit what they wanted, they took it away. Hanzo you are enough, you have always been more than enough. I was the screw-up but you did everything they asked. You deserved so much more.” Hanzo choked on the bile in his throat. Genji squeezed his brother’s hand.

“Genji…” Hanzo said, his heart breaking open again at his brother’s words. “I am so tired of being angry, of being in pain…I have tried to bury it like I should but it’s too much.” Genji watched his brother take a heavy breath. He moved closer to his brother, standing and moving to wrap his arms around Hanzo’s shoulders. Hanzo took a shaky breath as he clung to Genji’s metal body for dear life.

“I need help, Genji.” Hanzo said softly, feeling Genji’s cool fingers wrapping around his head and gently massaging his head in comfort. His brother shushed him gently as Hanzo cried against him.

“Then let us help you.”

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Let It Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is never an easy battle. The demons of your mind can mass against you at even the calmest of times. You have to fight to be better, if not for yourself than for the others you've hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter is based on my own previous attempts at recovery from self harm. Most of the methods Hanzo uses are the one's that worked for me in breaking my habit. Always remember, relapse doesn't mean you've failed.

* * *

 

Hanzo stared at Zenyatta as the omnic floated in front of him. It had been nearly a week since he had been caught and this was the first “session” Genji had told him he must take. Hanzo wasn’t certain how talking to his brother’s teacher would help his problems but even Mercy had recommended it. Winston had taken Hanzo off active duty until he was deemed “mentally stable” enough. It was a fact that both angered and relieved Hanzo in equal measure. 

 He didn’t think he was mentally unstable. In fact, he still thought he was perfectly capable of going on missions. He’d fought with injuries worse than this before. He had fought with injuries exactly like these before.  Hanzo hated being a burden to the people he’d come to know as friends, hated being stuck at Watchpoint with little to do but twiddle his thumbs like a child. 

 “I sense inside you, the same anger that once plagued your brother,” Zenyatta stated, staring at Hanzo with his slitted eyes. “It is imperative to your healing that you learn to let go as Genji has.” Hanzo looked down at his covered wrists, the stitches would be coming out soon. The scars would be large and deep without a doubt. Hanzo was unable to tell anyone that he still craved the feeling of the blade on his skin, that he still managed to make a more recent cut just a day or two ago. At Zenyatta’s request, Winston and Mercy had left his tools alone so he was free to do so. 

 “You wish to harm yourself even now,” Zenyatta continued, cocking his head to the side to display some emotion. “I can see it in your eyes. Does the thought of asking for help shame you that deeply?” Hanzo bit his lip, turning his hands back over to hide his wrists as he rested them on his knees. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He simply wanted to be deemed healthy enough to return to active duty.

 “I do not see how talking is going to solve this,” Hanzo stated, his tone clipped and annoyed. “I asked for help, not mindless chatter on why I do the things I do.” He hoped to deter the omnic this way, hoped that Zenyatta would just give in and give him a clean bill of health. It wasn’t as if the monk was certified to treat him anyway. Zenyatta hummed softly, staring at Hanzo. At least Hanzo assumed he was staring seeing as the omnic lacked real eyes. 

 “You asked for help and I am here to give it, Mr. Shimada,” Zenyatta replied, his hands resting in his own lap. “The path to attaining inner peace is not an easy one. It involves work. If you did not wish for help, perhaps we could start with why you decided to take Genji’s advice to speak with me?” Hanzo blinked, his mind taking but a moment to think about it. The reason he had asked for help. 

 “McCree walked in on me...I frightened him and Genji both with my actions.” Hanzo said, staring down at his wounds again. He looked over the stitches and recalled the look on McCree’s face when he found him. He could still hear the sound of McCree’s pounding heart against his ear as the gunslinger rushed him to the infirmary. Hanzo curled his fist, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

 “My actions caused McCree to fear for me, it caused Genji to shed tears for me,” Hanzo revealed to the omnic, voice heavy with guilt. “I do not wish to be a burden to those I care for. I do not want to see fear for my safety in their eyes.” Zenyatta nodded, looking over at Hanzo with his emotionless face. 

 “Oftentimes, when we are suffering, it is those we care for most that we hurt without realizing it,” Zenyatta stated, gesturing with his hands. “The process of healing the damage to your soul will be a hard road. It will be up to you to decide what reason you have for taking it and I advise you hang onto that reason. If you cannot find a reason for yourself, then for the people who care for you.” Hanzo thought those words over as the omnic quieted. 

 He thought again of the sound of McCree’s racing heartbeat, on the sight of Genji crying for him. He didn’t want the people he cared about to hurt for his need to hurt himself. If his need to restore his honor through his own pain only brought pain to himself that was one thing. But if it hurt those he loved...he wasn’t restoring his honor. He thought back to McCree’s words. 

  _“Seein’ you like that triggered some pretty bad memories for me too…”_

 Hanzo looked back up at Zenyatta, his eyes changed. The determination Zenyatta had once seen in Genji's was shining inside of them. He bowed his head slightly at the omnic. He wasn’t going to let this beat him, he wasn’t going to let his friends hurt for the sake of his need to keep his heart locked away. It was time to overcome his weakness. 

 “I am ready...master.” Hanzo said softly, earning a small nod from Zenyatta. The omnic moved his hands to his knees, his long robotic fingers curling up to meet his thumb. He bowed his head to Hanzo. 

 “Then let us get started.” 

 

* * *

 

 “This is ridiculous.” Hanzo stated as Genji leaned against his wall. It had been exactly one month since he’d begun his sessions with Zenyatta. While the omnic was slowly getting Hanzo to open up about a few things in an attempt to get to the root of his habit. But Hanzo was still reluctant to give up his tools, reluctant to give up his one coping mechanism. 

The elder Shimada was frustrated with himself and the lack of results. He still had nightmares every night, still struggled with sleep. He still felt the overwhelming urges at night, still cut himself. Although he dared only make one every night to avoid detection. Since just talking and meditating didn’t seem to be helping, Zenyatta decided to take a more hands-on approach. 

 Hanzo’s assignment was to clean his room at Watchpoint with Genji. Zenyatta asked Hanzo to do anything to break up the routine he had set for himself. Move the bed, redecorate, clean every surface until the space was completely different. The omnic expressed hope that the change would break up Hanzo’s routine for his ritual.

 The air was feeling slick and heavy in Hanzo’s lungs, suffocating him with it. It had felt that way for the few months and had gotten worse after McCree had discovered what Hanzo did behind closed doors. He hadn’t spoken to the man since but the lingering effect of McCree’s fear at what he’d discovered Hanzo doing weighed heavily in the air. Genji’s vents hummed softly as he stared at his brother, drawing Hanzo from his thoughts. 

“You say that it feels heavy here, that is your depression speaking and causing the feeling,” Genji stated, looking around the room. “Master says that you need to clean away the bad energy and clear the air.” Hanzo huffed, not wanting his brother to be here for this. His room was relatively clean already, neat and organized. His anxiety often drove him to clean on nights he couldn’t sleep. Hanzo lifted his hand, pawing at the fresh cut beneath his long sleeved shirt. Genji’s eyes softened, walking forward and putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “Where would you like to start?” Genji asked, voice kind. Hanzo looked around, eyes focusing on his bed and desk. Both were area’s he had performed his ritual at frequently. Hanzo took a deep breath, moving towards his desk. 

 “Let’s move this...over to the corner.” Hanzo suggested, pushing the desk towards the other wall. Genji nodded and grabbed the other end. After they got the desk where he wanted it, Hanzo took the cleaning spray Genji had provided to wipe the surface. Genji was quiet as he watched some dried blood coming off of the steel desk. Hanzo then moved towards his bed, looking carefully around the room.   
  
Now that the desk had been moved, there was space by the window for his bed. Hanzo stripped the sheets, leaving them in a pile in the corner with his pillow. Genji wordlessly moved to help Hanzo place the bed in front of the window. The elder Shimada lifted his nightstand to place it next to the bed. He cleaned the surface of the wood carefully before moving to open up the window. 

 “What is this?” Genji said, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to him. Hanzo spotted an album in Genji’s hands. Hanzo smiled, walking over as Genji opened the book. Pictures lined the inside, scraps of the past that Hanzo had gathered together. Genji sat down cross legged and Hanzo joined him. 

 “Oh my god, you actually kept all these?” Genji said, pointing to a picture of the eating ramen together when they were younger. Genji was shoving noodles roughly into his mouth as Hanzo rested his back against Genji’s. Hanzo chuckled at his smaller self. He had piled four bowls of ramen next to himself and was working on his fifth. Genji laughed loudly at the younger versions of themselves.

 “I forgot how much ramen you could put away!” Genji teased, drawing a glare from his brother and turning the page. A picture of Genji with his bright green hair and orange scarf. Hanzo laughed, snorting softly. 

 “You look like a carrot…” Hanzo managed as Genji made an indignant sound. Hanzo laughed until he was breathless before he managed to smile. It was nice recalling those happier memories with his brother. A soft breeze filled the room, fresh air chasing away the heaviness. Hanzo breathed it in and felt his body relaxing. The energy was already feeling lighter as Hanzo turned back to Genji. The cyborg had moved and was crouched in the area the bed had been previously, looking at a small wooden black box. Hanzo felt his heart skip a beat, his happiness turning into fear. His tools.

 Genji opened the box, looking over the array of razors, knives and other sharp objects Hanzo used during his rituals. Hanzo could hear his heart beating in his ears as he tried to think of something to say to defend himself. Genji straightened up, standing as he closed the box. He handed it wordlessly to his brother silently. Hanzo moved to take the box, holding it in his hands. His heart was beating fast and hard. Silence weighed heavy in the room. 

 “I won’t take them, brother,” Genji said softly, words meaning to reassure as he took off his visor. “Master says that you must give them up when you are ready and I agree. You’ll get there and I will be with you every step of the way.” Hanzo’s eyes moved down to the box, biting his lip as he tried not to look at the scars on his brother’s face. Scars he had left. Self-hatred bubbled in Hanzo chest, tasting bitter in his mouth.

 “I...am so sorry, Genji…” Hanzo whispered softly, shoulders starting to shake. “I am trying…”

 Genji took several steps forward, arms wrapping around Hanzo’s body. Hanzo leaned into Genji’s metal torso as he clutched the box tightly to himself. Heavy sobs escaped him, his whole body rigid as Genji held him close. He hated feeling this way, hated hurting like this but he knew he deserved this pain. He just wanted it to go away. 

 “It is okay, Hanzo,” Genji said softly, his voice humming at the edges. “Let it hurt and then we can move on together.” Hanzo dropped the box at his feet, clutching to his brother like a lifeline. He mumbled words of apology as he sobbed into Genji’s chest. After Hanzo finally pulled away, wiping his puffy red eyes. Genji pressed a soft kiss to his elder brother’s forehead. 

 “There, there. Now, let’s finish doing what we came to do.” Genji stated, moving to grab the broom from the corner to sweep. Hanzo sniffed, nodding as he went to pick up his box. He stared at it for just a moment before putting it away under his bed once more. 

 When he was ready…

 

* * *

 

 It would be three days later that Hanzo would take a large step forward. He was alone in his room, staring at his box of tools in his lap with a serious expression. His mind was racing and fighting between two decisions. He had felt the urge to hurt himself now that he was alone, having been alone for a few days after Zenyatta and Genji were both sent on a quick mission. Hanzo wanted so badly to give into his urges. 

 But there was a small part of him that was fighting it. He could feel the urges whispering, building like a wave in an ocean storm. He didn’t want to give in but the temptation of tools was strong. As long as he could see them he felt that urge growing...Hanzo felt a growl of frustration escaping his throat as he rose and walked out his door. Hanzo headed down the hallway, focused on his task and not paying attention to anything other than his goal. Hanzo finally stopped when he reached his destination. 

 He stood outside McCree’s door. He nervously fought with himself as he tried to justify why he had come here and not to Genji once he was home. Hanzo had barely spoken to McCree since that night, too scared to face his friend after what had happened. Despite missing the cowboy’s presence desperately, Hanzo knew he wasn’t ready to face McCree. Hanzo looked once more at his box. Maybe he could just leave it here and McCree would never know...

 “Hanzo, darlin’, fancy meetin’ ya here.” McCree’s voice called out, making Hanzo jump. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard McCree coming around the corner despite those awful spurs that made noise with every heavy step the cowboy took. Hanzo turned, his heart leaping in his chest as McCree came to stand behind him. McCree with his honey brown eyes, that soft smile...it made Hanzo’s heart constrict in his chest. He wasn’t even worthy enough to breathe the same air as McCree after what happened, let alone still have feelings for McCree. But these feelings persisted, reminding Hanzo of things he shouldn’t hope to have. 

 “I haven’t seen ya in a few, sweetheart. Was beginning to think you were avoidin’ me...” Hanzo blushed slightly, clearing his throat. Each pet name the cowboy uttered made his heart constrict in his chest, the longing returning with a vengeance after being buried for so long. 

 He didn’t have the words to apologize. He didn’t even know how to look McCree in the eyes. McCree waited patiently for a moment as he watched Hanzo try to process his thoughts, still staring at Hanzo with those beautiful eyes. Hanzo felt his heart hammering again in his chest. McCree always seemed to know when Hanzo needed time. Hanzo thrust the box he pushed the box into McCree’s chest. “I...need you to take this for me,” Hanzo said quickly, standing still as McCree raised a brow at him. “I...my brother’s master told me to get rid of them when I felt ready. I have decided and I trust you to hide them well.” Hanzo looked away, staring at everything but McCree as the cowboy lifted his hand. There was a soft creak as the wooden box opened. Hanzo swallowed thickly, clenching his fists at his sides and listening to his own heart hammering in his chest. Regret was already weighing heavily on his mind.

 He needed to do this. He was stronger than this urge, stronger than the darkness of his mind.

 McCree looked in the box, eyes widening at what he found. The cowboy looked at each of Hanzo’s tools with sharp eyes. He took in every blade, human hand lifting to gently touch them. Every one of the cool metal objects had sliced across Hanzo’s skin, each had left a mangled mark on him. McCree’s smile became a thin line as he shut the box and looked up at Hanzo. 

 There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment. Hanzo felt the burn of shame fill his chest, heart beating as he waited for McCree to say something, anything.  He didn’t want to meet McCree’s eyes, didn’t want to see the pity or anger. Hanzo prepared himself for some kind of scolding about his weakness…

 The scolding never came as warm arms enveloped Hanzo in a hug so tight it almost squeezed the breath out of him. Hanzo blinked as McCree held him close, heart racing as his cheeks heat in a blush. McCree rested his forehead on Hanzo’s shoulder as he began to speak. 

 “I’m so proud of you darlin’. You’ve been so strong all by your lonesome for so long.” McCree said voice tinged with happiness. “I know none o’ this is easy for ya...I’m glad ya trust me enough to help ya even if it’s only a lil’ bit.” Hanzo’s face softened, his arms rising shakily. He wrapped his arms around McCree’s waist and buried his blushing face in the gunslinger’s chest. 

 Maybe one day, he could be enough of a man to stand by McCree’s side. 

 

* * *

 

 Two months. It had been two whole months since Hanzo had last self-harmed. He could scarcely believe it himself. He’d been ticking the days off on his calendar, keeping tabs on how long he’d been free of fresh marks. The wounds he had inflicted had long since healed, decorating his arm in raised pink scars. 

 It wasn’t easy. Hanzo had spent many nights fighting with himself, trying to ride out the surge of emotions that usually caused him to drag the cold metal across his skin. Genji was proud of him and lamented the fact to him almost daily when they trained together. Hanzo was grateful for his brother’s support. Genji’s encouragements were what got him through some of his tougher days. 

 Zenyatta was pleased with Hanzo’s progress as well. Surprised that Hanzo was recovering so well, even if the man was still reluctant to open up on his reasons for starting his ritual. Hanzo meditated with the omnic regularly. The sessions he shared with Zenyatta allowed Hanzo to find some time to quiet his thoughts, to fight the blackness of his depression. He still struggled sometimes but Hanzo began to notice it was getting easier to tell his urges no. 

 The other constant during his recovery was McCree. After giving McCree the box, the cowboy had been around more often. They had started up their routine of practicing together, betting on who would win during their target practice. Movie night had started up again, joined by Hana, Lucio and sometimes even Genji and other members of Overwatch. It was steadily becoming a routine for them to all meetup and work through the whole movie archive alphabetically to avoid fights of what movie to watch. 

 But there were still nights that left Hanzo tossing and turning, unable to sleep as he tried to distract himself. Tonight was one of those nights. It was three in the morning, Hanzo lying awake to stare at the ceiling after a particularly vicious nightmare. The black, shapeless being of depression was weighing heavily on him tonight, whispering words that Hanzo knew weren’t true but still felt deep in his heart. The itch to drag a blade across his skin was getting worse as Hanzo’s demons massed against him. 

 Hanzo’s chest felt tight, his heart hammering in a panic over absolutely nothing in particular. His depression driving him to stay put, his anxiety begging him to rise and check any of the possible entrances to Watchpoint in hopes of easing it. Hanzo sat up in his bed. He needed to get out of here, needed to get some fresh air. Hanzo rose from his bed, putting on a black jacket and walking out of his room. Hanzo walked along the halls until he reached the rooftop, the cool air washing over his face and calming his senses. Hanzo fixed his eyes at the sky, sitting down with his back against a nearby wall as he sat down. The stars were out, twinkling brightly against the sky. The urge to cut was still aching in his chest, sitting heavily and beating against Hanzo’s self-control. 

 Hanzo decided to count the stars, hoping to distract himself. He counted one hundred and four of the twinkling lights before the soft sound of the door opening drew his attention back to earth. Hanzo looked up to find McCree standing over him. The cowboy held a unlit cigar in his mouth, smiling when he spotted Hanzo. McCree didn’t look much better than Hanzo felt. His brown hair was disheveled, his flannel shirt had been haphazardly thrown on over his gray sweat pants and serape hanging over his shoulders like a blanket. 

 Hanzo moved over, giving McCree a space to sit next to him on the concrete. The cowboy was unusually silent as Hanzo drew his eyes up to resume his counting. McCree lit his cigar, the spicy smoke filling the air as McCree sat down next to Hanzo. They spent several minutes in silence, McCree’s steady breathing as he smoked calming Hanzo’s nerves. Soon, he found himself counting the cowboys steady breathing instead of the stars above. It made a decent distraction from the itch. 

 “Rough night?” McCree finally started, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to him. The archer nodded, readjusting his position to let his legs crossed underneath him. “Yeah, me too.” Hanzo turned back to McCree. The cowboy was staring at the sky, eyebrow wrinkled as he contemplated something that Hanzo could probably never guess. Hanzo let his eyes wander over the man’s handsome jawline, flicking to his lips and wondering what they would feel like. He almost didn’t hear McCree speak again. 

 “Had a nightmare, ‘bout you tonight.‘Bout finding you like that ‘cept this time I hadn’t made it in time to help and ya bled out...was a lot worse in the dream.” McCree provided, worry weighing heavily in his voice. “I get nightmares sometimes. Used to get more of them but I’ve learned how to manage them better.” Hanzo’s head jerked up, feeling guilt wash over him.   
  
“I am sorry if I triggered them again,” Hanzo said softly, curling his hands into fists on his knees. McCree waved it off, turning and giving Hanzo another soft smile. Hanzo felt his heart start hammering against his chest. He silently cursed his feelings, they always reminded him of how unworthy he was to have them. How unworthy he was to even think of McCree this way. Their friendship was all he could hope for, all he should want.   
  
“You’re fine, darlin’. It ain’t your fault in the slightest. Just my ol’ brain decidin’ I need to be reminded o’ stuff.” McCree reassured Hanzo, reaching out to touch Hanzo’s knee and brushing their fingers together. Hanzo jolted, the touch sending electricity through his body. He hadn’t been prepared for the touch but McCree kept his hand on Hanzo’s, returning to his cigar. Silence passed over them for several moments as Hanzo relaxed to McCree’s touch. 

 “If ya don’t mind me askin’.” McCree started after a long moment, turning back to look at Hanzo with curiosity shining in those honey brown eyes. “Why did ya start cuttin’ yourself up like that. Zenyatta said ya haven’t really been keen on sharin’ but I was wonderin’ about it. Ya don’t have to tell me if ya don’t want to.” Hanzo blinked, considering the question. He trusted McCree but the reasons he had were so personal…

 “I decided if I knew the reason why...maybe I could help you more. Make up for not noticing before.” It made Hanzo’s heart constrict in his chest. McCree worried about him when Hanzo didn’t deserve it. He hated that he had made the man feel guilty for something he’d done to himself. Hanzo gently squeezed McCree’s hand. The human limb was warm against his palm and fingers.   
  
“But it wasn’t your fault. I have been hiding it for so long...I would have been surprised if you noticed it.” Hanzo stated, attempting to reassure McCree. The cowboy took another long drag of his cigar, shaking his head. Hanzo watched McCree for a few moments, trying to find the courage to speak. 

 “I fell in love...with a boy when I was young. I tried to run away with him and my father ended up killing him and his family.” Hanzo said, blurting it out quickly so he wouldn’t have time to change his mind. McCree stiffened, his head swiveling to stare at Hanzo with an expression of surprise. Hanzo felt his throat fill with bile as he looked away towards his feet. 

 “Takumi was the local florist's son...I met him one day while getting flowers for our garden on one of the few outings I was allowed. Until that point I always listened to the elders and my father, never questioned a life outside the clan.” Hanzo continued, his body tight with anxiety as he recounted Takumi’s smile. “I was convinced I could leave it all behind for him and finally be happy but my father made sure that dream never reached fruition.” Hanzo stared at his hands, clearly seeing the blood from Takumi’s lifeless body on them. He curled them into tight fists as he hung his head. 

 “He was gone, slain so my honor and the clan’s honor could be restored. I started to hurt myself because it wasn’t Takumi who had tarnished my family’s honor. It was my mistake alone and he took my place in death.” Hanzo said quietly, his voice quiet in his shame as he let his pain spill into every word. “I relented, surrendering to my role and making it my dream. Then I was told to kill my brother. They only person I loved more than life itself. After what I did to Genji I spiraled and it became a way to somehow redeem myself for all the mistakes I had made.” Hanzo let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he pushed up his sleeve to stare at his scars. 

 “I was never enough for the clan and others suffered for it, I find it hard to live with...this is the only thing I can think of to possibly punish myself,” Hanzo said as he stared at his arm. His fingers ghosted over the marks, eyes following the patterns of raised skin and white faded marks. 

 “I am still not enough. I still feel it at the back of my mind every day. Still, I want to drag a knife across my skin...I feel so weak.” Hanzo finished, letting the air grow silent. He felt heavy, fragile and exposed. Like the slightest touch would break him. McCree turned himself, watching Hanzo’s shoulders shaking for just a moment. 

McCree reached over, plucking Hanzo up and pulling him into his lap. Hanzo stiffened slightly as the serape wrapped around him and McCree’s arms covered him in warmth. Hanzo slowly let his head fall into McCree’s chest, listening to that familiar heartbeat. That was the only sound for a few minutes as McCree held Hanzo close to him. Hanzo tried not to feel his own racing heartbeat, tried not to look up at McCree because if he did...he might lose some of his self-control. 

 “I was fourteen when I got into Deadlock, a stupid kid who didn’t realize when he was over his head. I earned my belt buckle with my aim but up until that point, I was the head’s toy. I’d been raped so many times I just stopped carin’, went numb to it.” McCree said softly, lifting Hanzo’s arm and gently running his thumb over the scars. Hanzo jolted slightly, unused ta being touched on such sensitive skin. “It took a whole lotta years before I learned how ta deal with it, how to accept that it wasn’t my fault. When Reyes found out about it all, he held me and told me “Mijo, ya didn’t deserve any of that shit. Don’t let anyone tell ya that ya ain’t worth somethin’ because of it, ‘specially your own head.” Those words helped me understand.” McCree looked over Hanzo’s scars, eyes soft. Hanzo tucked his head under McCree’s chin and let his eyes go half-lidded at the gentle touches. He could hear McCree’s heartbeat beating hard in his chest.    
  
“I know you have regrets, everyone does..” McCree said, his words slow and well thought out. “But you ain’t the same person you were when you tried to kill Genji. You came to Overwatch to redeem yourself and you’ve made friends and saved our asses on missions. You’ve taken the first steps to redeem yourself despite all the heartbreak you’ve felt.” Hanzo stiffened when he felt McCree take his wrist his warm hand. The man moved slowly, lifting the sleeve carefully to reveal the soft, healing scars.   
  
Hanzo let McCree gently run his thumb over the sensitive skin of his scars. The gentle touches made Hanzo shiver, his breath hitching. McCree’s eyes looked over the scars, tracing over the paths they took with both his touch and his sight. The sadness that passed over the man’s handsome features, contorting them in a way that made Hanzo’s own heart hurt.   
  
“Ya see these and see weakness and failure, Hanzo but ya know what I see?” McCree said, leaning his head down on Hanzo’s shoulder. “I see battle scars. Sometimes your own head is the enemy and these scars show how hard ya’ve fought all by yourself. It’s okay to let others help ya though and I want to help ya fight when ya can’t anymore. If ya’ll let me.” Hanzo was shaking, his shoulders quaking from the emotion in McCree’s voice. Hanzo finally dared to look up at McCree’s face. 

 Those honey brown eyes stared at him with a softness that Hanzo hadn’t seen in so long. They looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, made him feel like he could do anything. The gentle fingers still stroking his scars as McCree’s metal hand rose to touch Hanzo’s cheek.   
  
“Ya don’t have to be alone anymore, I won’t let ya.” McCree said softly, stroking the archer’s cheek with his metal thumb. The cool metal soothed Hanzo somewhere deep in his heart. Hanzo’s sharp brown eyes met McCree’s, so many emotions swimming in the other man’s eyes. 

 McCree was the one who initiated the kiss. A soft press of lips under the starlight that left Hanzo’s mind reeling. It lasted for just a moment, Hanzo too shocked to reciprocate it properly. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears as he stared up at McCree. There was a brief moment where they were both quiet before Hanzo decided to react. He could push McCree away but something else rose to the surface. 

 The next kiss was deeper. Hanzo pulling McCree down to press their lips together, the cowboy’s eyes widening for just a moment before they closed. Hanzo wrapped his arms around McCree’s neck as warm arms wrapped around his waist. Fireworks exploded in Hanzo’s mind, his body relaxing as all the feelings Hanzo had been hiding surfaced. 

 When the kiss ended, both men were panting. Hanzo searched McCree’s eyes for some kind of hint at how the cowboy felt. McCree’s fingers tangled in the longer part of Hanzo’s hair, staring at Hanzo with that same look as before. The rough hands held Hanzo gently as if he were some precious treasure that could break with the slightest touch.   
  
Anxiety filled Hanzo’s mind. Why had McCree kissed him? Didn’t he realize that Hanzo was broken? Did the cowboy hold some fantasy of fixing him? As his mind raced, Hanzo didn’t notice his breathing had changed until McCree’s warm human hand guided his head up to meet his eyes.   
  
“I gotcha partner, it’s okay,” McCree said softly, soothing Hanzo with a gentle whisper. “Breathe…” Hanzo caught himself, taking a deep breath before he could spiral into a full panic. McCree nodded, scooting back slightly and trying not to crowd Hanzo as the man calmed down. Hanzo met McCree’s eyes as he finally started to breathe normally again. He tried to find the words he wanted to say.   
  
“Jesse...I may be recovering but I will never be normal. I will still have bad days, I will always struggle with these things.” Hanzo said, meeting McCree’s eyes with a sadness. “If you hold any ideas of “fixing” me…” McCree held up his hands, eyebrows wrinkling as he shook his head.   
  
“Whoa there, darlin’ I ain’t tryin’ to do anythin’ like that,” McCree reassured, taking Hanzo’s hands into his own. “I ain’t exactly the picture o’ mental health either darlin’. I get nightmares, flashbacks and sometimes I just stare at myself in the mirror struggling with myself...” Hanzo felt another gentle touch on his cheek, McCree lifting his hand to run his thumb over Hanzo’s cheek. Hanzo closed his eyes, finding that he liked this little bit of comfort McCree provided for him. Hanzo set his hands on McCree’s chest and stared into those eyes that had haunted his dreams for months. 

 “I don’t want to fix ya, I just want to help you carry the load of it a bit…” McCree confessed, eyes soft with affection. Hanzo thought for a moment on McCree’s words. He considered McCree’s words on his own problems, his desire to help the man filling him.   
  
“Only if you help me understand and carry your own burdens as well.” Hanzo conceded, leaning into the warm hand on his face. “I know it will not be easy but...I would like to make whatever this is work.” Hanzo had never seen McCree smile so widely in their time as friends. The grin spread across his whole face, lighting it up like a child opening his birthday gifts. Hanzo felt himself smiling as McCree pulled him closer.   
  
“Ya got it, darlin’,” McCree said, burying his face in Hanzo’s shoulder. Warmth surrounded them as they simply held each other. It was a comfort, having it all out in the open now. Hanzo wrinkled his brow when he felt McCree stiffen slightly and he looked up. McCree’s eyes were worried now, an anxiety showing in them he hadn’t previously seen before. 

“Just...one other thing,” McCree stated, fidgeting nervously with the collar of Hanzo’s shirt. “It’s important for ya to know if we are gonna start goin’ steady or whatever.” Hanzo raised a brow and nodded slowly. McCree bit his lower lip, nibbling it as he took a moment to gather what he wanted to say. Hanzo kept his eyes on McCree’s face and waited patiently for the cowboy to gather what he needed to talk. 

 “I’m...Look, I was..." McCree struggled to find what he wanted to say before taking a deep breath. 

"I was born a gal but it never quite fit for me. I’ve been on hormones for years and got my top surgery around the time I joined Blackwatch...the bottom is still the same though. Didn’t really care too much about it at the time and never got around to changin’ it.” McCree confessed, eyes meeting Hanzo’s with the same worry in them. “Now I know ya have got to have questions and I’ll understand if ya find it to be a deal breaker…” Hanzo didn’t let McCree finish, pressing his lips to the man’s to swallow the next words he had been about to say. Hanzo cast a serious look at McCree.

 “I do have questions but your body isn’t what attracts me to you,” Hanzo stated, hoping he was saying the right thing. “We will make it work and if you are alright guiding me, then I do not care about the parts involved.” McCree was speechless for a moment. He sat there, blinking down at Hanzo in shock before his eyes softened.   


“Keep talkin’ like that sugar and I might just fall head over boots for you.” He joked, pulling Hanzo in for another kiss. Hanzo relaxed into it, warmth filling his chest as happiness washed over him. This was another big step for him and for McCree as well. 

 They ended up talking until the sun rose, discussing how they would go about this new relationship. McCree answered all of Hanzo’s questions about his gender and whatever else concerned him. Hanzo answered all of McCree’s questions that he could. It would be around ten in the morning before Genji found them asleep on the roof, curled under McCree’s serape and wrapped up in each other’s arms. The cyborg smiled, deciding to leave them be for now before heading off to meditation with his master and asking Athena to tell him when the pair woke up. 

 Hanzo deserved some rest. 


End file.
